


Potential

by Sky_kiss



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Ardyn Izunia Being Ardyn Izunia, Ardyn Izunia is a Troll, Bathtub Sex, Copious Sass, F/M, Look this is just a home for different smutty Ardyn oneshots, One Shot Collection, Public Sex, Size Difference, Whatever I feel like in any given chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-15 02:13:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19286017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sky_kiss/pseuds/Sky_kiss
Summary: Ardyn Izunia is complex man. In many ways, he resembles his ridiculous finery. There are too many layers. Too many facets. Too mucheverythingto explore in one life. Granted, that doesn't always stop his lovers from trying.Or: a collection of unrelated, typically smutty, one shots. Each focused on our favorite man of no consequence. The pairing and any AU will be listed in the chapter index.





	1. Lunardyn: Bath

**Author's Note:**

> Oops. Ended up writing soft bath sexiness. My bad. They won't all be this soft or...very tame. I will also apologize if this fic ends up front loaded with Lunardyn. I have a bad hankering currently but will accept prompts for any of the ships listed above.

There is no suitable excuse for the Chancellor’s lingering stay in Tenebrae. His officially sanctioned trip had ended two days earlier. And yet he remains. He prowls from one side of the manor to the other, pretends his journey is aimless.

They both know better. 

He will end up here, with her, casting his strange shadow across her childhood home. It is a practiced dance by now and she welcomes him with open arms, unashamed of her sins. 

Luna tips her head to the side, takes a moment to observe her lover in all his languorous splendor as he avails himself of her generous bath. He is an entirely different creature left to his own devices. It’s written in the way he holds himself (shoulders tighter, arms held in closer proximity to his sides), the way he moves. The fluid grace she has come to associate with him remains but it is more restrained. The sweeping gestures he favors in the company of others are entirely absent. The word that comes to mind is coiled. He moves with a coiled grace, measured and dangerous. Like a viper, perhaps, though he lacks so many of the attributes she would associate with a reptile. Ardyn is more cat than anything, preening and capricious.

And more than capable of rending his friends and foes apart, depending on his whim.

“I would offer a penny for your thoughts, my dear, but I fear it would hardly be fair payment,” Ardyn says this without looking so much as glancing at her. He is comfortable enough in his own form to care little for the typical fixtures of masculinity. His hair is piled on top of his head in a sloppy bun. A few tendrils of maroon hair frame his face with artless grace. The bubbles hit about midway up his chest and he sighs happily, nuzzling back into her oversized tub. 

“I volunteer them freely,” Lunafreya crosses to kneel beside the tub, reaching out to thread her fingers through his hair. The mass is softer than it looks. He nuzzles into her palm like any great feline, a low rumble of pleasure building in the back of his throat. “You look quite at home.”

“For all its technological marvels the Empire is not one for creature comforts.” Ardyn sighs again, cracking one eye open to regard her. It glitters, halfhearted mischief banked by laziness. Or fondness. “I have missed a good bath. Tis’ not perfect, alas, but we must make due.”

“And what prevents it from being as such?”

“Why the striking absence of a beautiful young lady.” He presses his right hand flat over his heart. The princess swallows, ducking her head to hide her smile. His own smirk is far less subtle. “Won’t you join me, dearest Lunafreya?” His voice leaves shivers chasing down her spine, low and dripping with promise. It is an innocent enough request, his expression says. She will come to no harm. 

It is a very pretty lie.

She chews her lower lip between her teeth. She shouldn’t. Indulging him is dangerous and she’s done so far too often recently. The voice in the back of her head chides her for even the appearance of hesitation. She would not be here, lurking by the side of the tub, if she intended otherwise. Luna stands, unfastening her dress and shimmying until it falls by the side of the tub. Ardyn holds his hand out for her.

And he surprises her, really. He makes no attempt to touch or tease her. Only wraps his arms around her and allows her to settle against his chest. Ardyn makes some sleepy little noise as he tucks his nose in her hair. His hand sweeps up to cup her breast but there is no intent behind it. It is a comfort, some residual habit which refuses to die. In sleep, he holds her much the same. 

The Oracle allows her eyes to drift shut, breathing slowly. The stress of the day, of her position, slowly bleeds away, leaves her boneless and languid in the overheated water. She cannot place the exact scents he has chosen; honey is one of them. Perhaps a hint of milk. Perhaps jasmine. The end result is vaguely floral and borders on oversweet.

She smiles to herself, dragging the tips of her nails over the water’s surface. Their limbs are hidden beneath the thick film of bubbles. His other hand is splayed out over her belly. It is a distracting weight and the longer she langors in the tub the more aware she becomes. Luna shifts, tipping her head back to observe the Chancellor.

He is still smiling. The muscles in his neck stand out, lightly corded from the angle, as he rests his head on the rim of the tub. The heat lends him a gentle flush of color and, much like everything else, she finds the pink hue suits him. Luna shifts in the circle of his arms, turns until her chest is pressed flush to his. His is not particularly hirsute. She likes the sparse hair dotting his chest all the same, has come to appreciate the way it tickles against her own when they move together.

Luna smirks, reaching out to trail the backs of her fingers down the column of his throat. The tendons twitch beneath her touch, relaxing only when she has skirted down and over his clavicle. She likes how broad he is, the width of his shoulders and pectorals. 

“Lunafreya,” he purrs her name. It is partially a warning as she reaches up to trace the curve of his jaw. “Whatever is on your mind? We are resting.”

“I am resting.” She sits up, straddling his waist. His length is still soft against her core and she is somehow...charmed by this. There is something intimate about holding him so near without sex necessarily factoring into the equation. “But I wish to observe you all the same.”

Ardyn snorts. “Like some unfortunate lab animal.”

“Like a work of art and great beauty.”

He laughs, absently reaching out to tug on an errant strand of her hair, “Oh flattery suits you, pet.” He shifts beneath her, sitting up straighter and rests his arms on the edge of the tub. “T'would be poor form to turn a princess away. I shall simply have to suffer your observations. Woe.”

She chuckles at his theatrics, ignoring them for the most part as she continues her game. She will not deny taking a certain pride in his looks. The Chancellor is broad shoulder and dwarves her in every way that counts. And while there is a certain lithe quality to his figure there is a strength all the same. Every inch of him is corded with muscle. A smattering of scars weave across his ribs and back and she traces them with careful hands.

He shivers when her nails rake over his sides. Luna arches a brow and he shrugs. “Ticklish.”

“I never would have guessed.”

“Oh, we all have our secrets. And I would so hate to bore you.” His strange cat’s eye gold eyes glitter. Boring is a word no one could ever associate with the man. She allows her touch to stray upwards, curling around the back of his neck, nails scraping over his scalp.. “I do not deserve such pampering.” 

Luna leans forward, ghosting her lips over his before flicking her tongue along the seam. She chooses to trace the underside of his jaw with her tongue instead of her hands, groaning at the taste of his skin. There’s a spiciness to it she associates singularly with him, mixed with a tinge of sweat. He is handsome bordering on beautiful and so firm beneath her. Luna wants him.

“Why, Lady Lunafreya. How underhanded of you.” He’s still purring, craning his head to make way for the gentle scrape of her teeth over his pulse. “Here was me, simply enjoying the cleanliness of my bath…”

“Do you wish me to stop?”

He smirks at her, cheeky and achingly handsome. Ardyn rolls his hips against hers, “Do you imagine you _could_?”

She squares her jaw. The truth is more nebulous than she would like. A part of her is unsure she could stop even if she wished. He feels too good, cock half hard against her, warm and wet and handsome. His hand moves to settle at the small of her back, bowing her into him. Luna chews her lip. A soft sigh chases from her tongue as his touch strays between her legs. One of his fingers circles her core, drifting up towards her ass. He presses his thumb to her just to make her squirm.

“No,” she answers, speaks the words against his lips. She presses up on her knees, grinds herself down on his length until he grunts. “And I have no wish to stop.”

He smiles then, genuine as he brushes his fingers through her hair. “Then have your wicked way with me, princess. Your servant is willing.”

She wants to correct his phrasing but the words are lost in a sharp yelp. Servant, he calls himself. But it tastes a lie as he holds her hips, keeps her steady as he thrusts home. Luna’s head lolls forward to rest against his shoulder, panting as she rides him. He stretches her in the most wonderful ways, just this side of too much. Everything about him toes that line.

Her orgasm comes too fast for her liking. She does not want their coupling to end, does not want to lose the feel of him inside her. Ardyn growls against her throat, biting down on her shoulder hard enough to break skin, and she keens. Her vision swims momentarily; the feel of him spilling inside her is faraway, muted compared to the press of his tongue to the bite.

She is vaguely aware of the water reheating around them (elemancy, almost certainly). Ardyn’s fingers are playing between her legs and she groans, finding his lips for a grateful kiss.


	2. Lunardyn: Niflheim Politics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She wonders, from time to time, if Iedolas knows precisely what he’s toying with. A pet Oracle was one thing. Keeping Adagium chained was another beast entirely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lem wanted Nifleheim politics coupled with Ardyn attempting to corrupt Luna. Also hand stuff. Hopefully I've done that justice. Also, if you're not following Lem already, do yourself a favor. Hunt her down at @LemsArt on twitter. Because she's a goddess and makes god tier art.

Ardyn is dangerous when left to his own devices. 

Luna knows this better than most and in more ways than Bahamut likely intended. But the Draconian continues to sleep and if he opposes their tryst he remains achingly silent. The Oracle rests her chin in the palm of her hand. She observes the Chancellor and the Chancellor, in turn, surveys the Emperor’s assembled guests. He hasn’t bothered veiling his derision. 

They’ve absconded for a moment and, truly, Lunafreya is relieved. She has had more than her fill of Niflheim’s politics this past month. Iedolas makes only the barest attempts to conceal his heresy and distaste for her position. Besithia does not even bother with that much. 

She is, in his words, extraneous. A pleasing tribute to an age long since past. She bears these indignities with courtly graces and Ravus’ hand at the curve of her elbow. Every now and again his fingers with bite into her skin with a hair too much force, a less than subtle reminder to hold her tongue.

Luna finds herself longing for Tenebrae. It is a gilded cage, yes, but those bars are preferable to the collar she wears in Niflheim. 

Ardyn fingers curl over balcony. The snifter of brandy rests beside his right hand on the railing. It’s empty. Politics drive him to drink. Bureaucrats drive him drink. The fact that it has little to no effect on his daemon riddled body is besides the point. Ardyn prefers theatrics for theatrics sakes. 

“What is the cost of a divine pardon these days, my dear?” He says, turning just enough to catch her eye. “Sheep's blood? Some winsome maid?” The corner of his lips twitches up, self satisfied as he smirks. “Shall I fall at your feet and perform acts of worship?” 

“Why should you need forgiveness, Chancellor?”

“Merely weighing my options. Bahamut was _delightfully_ unclear regarding collateral damage.” Ardyn drums his fingers against his chin. “I can’t see that the old lizard would be concerned with a spot of butchery. It was one of his favorite pastimes.” 

She sighs, suddenly tired. “Ardyn, you cannot kill them.” 

“Oh, Lunafreya. You’ll find I absolutely _can_.” He tips his head to the side, the wild layers of his hair cutting across his face. Niflheim does not suit him. The hard angles and sterility jar against the color of his skin, his hair. Ardyn is meant for warmer shades, not harsh fluorescent lights. They exaggerate the angles of his face and leave him painted in too stark shadows. “Think of it. Our heroine’s tragic past finally put to rest, all those slights against her family and nation avenged. By none other than the villain himself. Poetry." 

Luna turns her face away from him. Staring will prove too great a temptation and she does not want to run the risk of him ‘intuiting’ anything from her expression. She bears no love for Niflheim or its Emperor but she has no desire to see them butchered wholesale. She sips her wine instead. The sweetness is poorly suited to their conversation. “It changes nothing in the long run.” 

“But it makes for an entertaining distraction.” He is a naturally large man, as tall as her brother. The excess finery leaves his already broad form looking larger still as he stalks towards her. She wonders, from time to time, if Iedolas knows precisely what he’s toying with. A pet Oracle was one thing. Keeping Adagium was another beast entirely. He takes her chin in his hand, humming. “A crown would suit you.” 

She feels the daemons crawling beneath his skin, riled by her proximity. A handful claw towards her, up the length of his arms and into his fingers. She does not understand their tongue or their whispers, only feels them in the back of her head. A crown, yes. Gruesome and steeped in poetic irony. Ardyn would happily fashion her something from Iedolas’ bones. Perhaps from the fingers of his right hand; the same hand which had consigned her mother's death. 

“Do you often imagine me in such positions, Chancellor?” 

“You’d be scandalized by some of my imaginings, dearest.” His thumb traces her lower lip, pressing just hard enough for the edge of his nail to pinch. He pauses, brow furrowing as if in consideration. “I should prefer killing an Empress to a mere Oracle. To listen to your people weep for their beloved Lunafreya. Before the daemons ripped them apart, that is.” 

She is saved from having to make a response. Ardyn’s touch drops away and she watches, mesmerized, as the entirety of his posture shifts. He is suddenly a boneless, lolloping, creature, lounging against the pillar beside her like some wine-drunk dandy. He looks _harmless_ (aside from the glint in his strange eyes) and she knows that is the greatest trick of all. The persona he has crafted is such a collection of oddities, from the clothes down to his demeanor, that he is somehow beneath notice. He is ridiculous and, by extension, forgettable instead of simply strange. 

It’s Ravus that comes looking for them. Her dear brother stalks around the corner. His right hand is curled around the hilt of his blade. 

“Ah, the dashing High Commander. Come to rescue the princess from the _tedium_ of my company.” Ardyn sweeps his arm out wide, face expressive. The mock offense is exaggerated enough to prove cloying. “For the best, I suppose. I have been _dreadfully_ rude monopolizing your attention, ladyship.”

Lunafreya stands, offering him a courtly smile as she extends her hand. He really is far too tall. The ridiculous creature nearly doubles over when he bends to kiss her hand. 

“No apologies are necessary, Chancellor. I always find our conversations...enlightening.” 

He holds her gaze. The other man, the daemon and not the swaggering politician, stares back at her. That note of danger remains, bleeding into a more pressing hunger as he presses his lips to her skin. The touch burns and she prays Ravus does not catch the gentle swipe of his tongue across her knuckles.  
____

She is forced to make polite conversation for another hour before they are finally called in to the banquet hall. Like most of the empire’s décor the room is simultaneously minimalist and gaudy. Vibrant reds and golds adorn every available surface. A stark contrast to the coldly metallic walls and the chill air. Luna shivers, instinctively shifting nearer to her brother’s side. 

Ravus escorts her to the far end of the table. His military rank and her title hold little sway at these state affairs. They are invited as members of nobility, a former prince and princess, and thus pushed to the side with the other lesser houses. The muscles in her brother’s jaw clench. The slight infuriates him; will always infuriate him. It is a visual reminder than no matter how hard he works or how high he climbs he will never truly have his position returned to him. 

She is halfway to her seat when a familiar drawling voice stops her short. 

“Ah, Lady Lunafreya,” Ardyn drops into an odd half bow. “The Emperor has heard tale of your _thrilling_ escapades in the colonies. I fear you must suffer my company a little longer, ladyship, and regale him with a firsthand account. ” 

Her blood runs cold. “I’m certain that is not…” 

“...it most certainly is.” There are far too many teeth when he grins. “Come, ladyship.” His hand curves over her hip as he helps her to her feet, sliding to rest at the small of her back. It rests too low for decorum but he’ll explain that away as a happy accident, a result of the disparity in their size.

Besithia is seated on the Emperor’s left. Ardyn occupies the space on his right. A general shoots her a dark look as he’s made to forfeit his seat. Lunafreya squares her jaw as the Chancellor seats her. He drags her chair nearer to his own, unrepentant. 

“You do me a great honor, Emperor Iedolas. I can only offer my humble thanks in return.” She bows her head. The smile is practiced, born out of necessity. At twelve she had mastered the expression, learned to flatter her jailors. Ardyn watches her, gold eyes glittering. The hunger remains, that same edge. 

The offer still stands, it says, and she suffers the image of him cutting a swathe through the room. He will drown Niflheim in blood. He will hang its nobility from the chandeliers and fuck her amidst the carnage. Her grip on her chair tightens and she shakes her head. No. 

The Chancellor hums.

It is abundantly clear she is there at Ardyn’s behest. The Emperor inquires after her health, her travels, and then returns his attention to his generals. Luna speaks when spoken to, a beacon of queenly integrity and good breeding. 

Half an hour passes. Ardyn’s hand slips from the table to her knee. 

She hides her surprise in a swallow of wine, dabbing at the corner of her mouth. The Chancellor’s attention remains fixed on Iodelas. 

“Every day Regis hides behind his walls, Lucis’s position weakens.” Besithia’s voice, low and growling, is a poor fit for his frame. Even aged his figure is much too delicate. He plucks at the remainder of his meal with disinterest. “The surrounding city states are coming to recognize the truth: so long as Insomnia remains safe, their King will permit the countryside to burn.” 

Ardyn's fingers trail up the inside of her thigh, feather light. Her shiver can be written off as an after effect of the cool evening air. Lunafreya clears her throat. She adjusts the hang of the tablecloth to better shield her lap. The right corner of his mouth quirks up. 

She might go so far as to call him proud. 

The conversations happening around them fades to a dull note in the back of her consciousness. Ardyn speaks with the same surety as ever, unphased even as his touch eases beneath her undergarments. Nothing with the man can be straight forward and so he hesitates, fingers a hair's breadth from her skin. Feverish heat licks from him, leaves her shifting in her seat. 

“Perhaps we are due an outsider’s opinion,” Ardyn says. His drawl is more exaggerated than ever. “Lady Lunafreya, where do you fall on the issue?” 

His thumb brushes her clit, a ghost of contact before he draws away. Luna manages a smile. “Forgive me, Chancellor. I fail to see what I could…” she digs her nails into the palm of her hand. He returns to his lazy ministrations, stroking her with little intent. “...add to the conversation.” 

“So humble. So pious. As befits your station.”

Besithia massages his temple. “Yes. I am certain your little priestess holds the answers. Regale us with all your god's military acumen.” 

One of his fingers curls just enough to tease at her entrance, gathering her wetness and dragging it back up. He has the gall to rest his chin in his free hand, staring at her expectantly even as he rubs her to near madness. The pleasure builds to a fever point and then

...he moves away, leaves her aching. Ardyn smirks. “Come now, Oracle. Rally to your gods defense.”

She squares her jaw. The muscles in her back and shoulders are pulled taut. Luna holds her head high, watching Besithia with naked dislike. "Perhaps you would be better served looking to the gods, sir. Insomnia's shield continues to stand, despite your armies best efforts, yet Ifrit walked their streets easily enough. And wiped Solheim from the face of Eos with just as little effort."

It earns her throaty chuckle. And a finger pressed inside her. She reaches for her wine so quickly she nearly spills, hiding her grunt in a deep swallow. 

He’s purring, “As good an answer as any.” 

Conversation carries on. Ardyn returns to his game. Dragging her right to the edge before falling off. She is soaked and aching. Ardyn’s fingers are dripping with her slick, sticky against her thigh. She reaches over, fingers closing over his knee before he can resume his ministrations.

She is not entirely defenseless. Divine energy licks from her fingertips. Not enough to hurt but certainly enough to prove _uncomfortable_. She slides her hand higher, fingertips just brushing his groin.

He has the indecency to grin at her, hand slipping out from beneath her dress. His fingers curl about her wrist, dragging her up those last few inches. 

She wants to whimper. Luna focuses on keeping her face impassive, cupping her lover through his slacks. Ardyn is hard for her, straining against the confines of his slacks. She chews the inside of her cheek, breath stuttering as he grinds her palm against his erection. 

She channels more energy through her touch instead and has the distinct pleasure of listening to him hiss. Luna holds her head high, blue eyes bright. She expects fury. 

Instead, she finds dark amusement. Ardyn bows his head in concession. The Chancellor sets both his hands in front of him on the table. His fingers are still shiny with her arousal.  
_____

She excuses herself from the table. Ardyn is on her heels before the doors to the banquet hall are shut, hands heavy and burning through the material of her dress. 

“That was an unkind trick,” she says, prim, as if her hands aren’t fisted in material of his jacket, his scarves, anything she can use for purchase. Luna kisses him as if she wants to choke him, tongue thrust halfway down his throat. He only chuckles, hands heavy on her ass as he walks them backwards. The garden is empty, any lingering guests driven inside by the sudden drop in temperature. She doesn’t feel it. 

“Was it? My _apologies_ , ladyship. It certainly _felt_ as if you were enjoying my attentions.” His hand snakes between her thighs, cupping her. He arches a brow. “Mmm, _still_ enjoying them, it seems.”

She could chide him for much the same. The chancellor is still hard.

She drops to her knees instead. Luna stares up at him. She knows how it affects him. Subservience alone did little. If he wanted to take her or kill her or ravage her he could. Even with the Oracle’s strength coursing through her veins, Ardyn was vastly more powerful. It’s the choice. It’s her willingness. It’s her _desire_ and her to consent to some presumed fall from grace. Ardyn groans, long and low as she eases him free of his slacks, fingers curling in her hair, “Such delicate little hands, pet.”

He is undeniably handsome in the moment. The muscles in his neck stand out in lovely cords, jaw slackened as she strokes him, lazy, unfocused. A mimicry of his earlier treatment. He grins, tongue flicking out over his lower lip. 

“If your gods could only see you, my Luna…” 

“Call out to them,” she mumbles, pressing her lips to his belly. She drags her teeth across one of his many scars, tongue pressing flat to the divot of his hip bone. "Perhaps they’ll hear you.” 

He’s laughs, dark and dangerous, grip tightening in her hair. “What a lovely heretic you make.”

She takes him in her mouth before he can say more, hunger winning out over his need to soliquoize. The muscles beneath her hands go taut. His hiss is a victory in of itself, leaves her half drunk as she laps at him, dragging her tongue along the underside of his cock. 

“My Luna.” The emphasis is never on her name. It is the note of possession, of ownership. She swallows as much of him as she can comfortably take, stroking the remainder of his length with her hand. He is always much too loud, grunting and groaning. Luna shifts, want so strong it threatens to choke her. 

Perhaps he understands this. More likely, it’s a darker game. He wants to come inside her. Leave her with his seed painted across her thighs for the remainder of their evening. In the moment, it doesn’t matter. Ardyn pulls on her hair hard enough to hurt, dragging her to her feet. 

She should feel embarrassed by how easily he pushes inside her. She doesn’t. Luna’s legs are a vice around his waist. She’s pressed so tightly between his chest and the wall that it’s difficult to breathe, let alone thrust back. There's a hellish strength in him as his hips snap forward, breaking his previous rhythm and working them to something more violent. 

She welcomes it. His hunger is heady and infectious and Luna drags her nails between his shoulders just to hear him moan. His hand snakes between them to rub at her clit and she screams. The music inside will not have been enough to drown her out, not entirely. It’s dangerous and it’s thrilling, leaves her spasming around his cock. Ardyn stills inside her, riding out her orgasm before he resumes his earlier pace. Luna tweaks her nose against his ear, whispers filth until he’s shuddering in her arms. 

Someone will come looking for the source of the disturbance. They've no time to revel in the afterglow. She whimpers a little, hips aching as he slips from her body. 

He is gracious enough to untangle her legs from around him, hands heavy on her waist. Ardyn supports her weight until she is certain her legs will hold. 

There is something...surreal about him in the aftermath. He is beautiful in the moonlight, all his edges softened by the silvery colors. He tugs one of his scarves free and drops to his knees before her, an image of gallantry despite the tawdry circumstances. She swallows, shifting her left leg outward when he taps her knee. He cleans their spend without comment, before tucking the soiled material in his back pocket. It is...soft and excessively intimate. 

And then he offers her his arm, too smug, and the illusion shatters. 

“Come along, my dear. Before your masters grow suspicious.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably some Ardynoct next.


End file.
